An Elaborated Mess
by LLtIV
Summary: Lois and Clark, who is to define who they are? Individual in control or just two threads in the weaver's plans? Pre-Bride


Disclaimer: I don not own Smallville or Superman or any of the related characters.

She drummed her finger on her hard wood desk, trying to think how to piece words together creating the most boring article she had ever written. "I HATE MY EDITOR" she typed, after spinning her chair a couple of times. An article about discounts for the elderly wasn't of very high interest to her or to anyone else. That woman, Tess…her name was a repulsive as she was. She dreamed of a bombing (destroying said woman who happened to be walking down the street) and the need be on the field along with Cla…no, she was alone; she pushed her thoughts away from herself. Denial didn't exist for Lois. Only reluctance of embracing facts, she had accepted that Clark Kent was something more than a farm boy to her a while ago; but she will never like the idea of having feelings for the newest addition to the Daily Planet.

A coffee break seemed ideal; the fumes of the city would even bring some dark inspiration. She grabbed her purse and made her way up the stairs, her brow furrowed in frustration, her heels clicking against the marble floor and her long and dark hair tied in a loose pony tail moved from side to side like a scale's indicator would when someone unusually heavy has stepped on it.

Standing in line, she let her mind drift into unwanted places. She thought of that day, when he had stupidly spilled water on his shirt and how deeply grateful she had been for it. She tried telling herself that only his lack of touch was visible. "I'm not looking!"- She repeated in her mind many times; that line had eventually become an order for eyes to complete every day. They always failed to fulfill it, but it wasn't only her eyes that could see.

"Miss, your order, please!"-The cashier's irritated voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She had obviously been standing there like a drugged idiot.

"Large with extra sugar"-She responded just as annoyed.

As she walked on the hard cement side walk she wished it was purely physical, but it wasn't. In fact, she had never even raised an eye brow for Clark before, not until he changed; not until he grew. She didn't just like him, but she refused to use any other word. Many phrases circled her mind daily, reminding her of the lie she was living. She could no longer trust herself to keep a realistic and uncaring act; she could already see the cracks on it.

She hated her reflections, they were too revealing and each one was scarier than the last one. It was unusual for her to feel deeply for a man. And this one…this one in particular didn't look at her the way she looked at him.

She wished she dreaded going to work, but she hid her pleasure behind a furrowed brow and a couple of sarcastic remarks thrown at her neighbor. Lois worked ignoring the empty suggestive looks Clark would often give her, she hated him. If he only knew what he was doing to her? Did he? She quickly discarded that possibility; Clark Kent was the new definition for obliviousness.

* * *

Lois was gone,_ great. _The woman decided to take a coffee break when he had bought lunch for two. He knew her habits by now, he had to blame his enhanced memory for that, he had not memorized her quirks because he wanted; most definitely not. Her chair was facing the doorway, meaning she had been spinning on it in exasperation, her notes were clean; she was bored. This had been happening a lot lately, and her coffee breaks were nothing more than an excuse to get out and try to find a better story.

She had to be aware of the amount of attention he was giving her, the smirks in return of her sarcasm, and the whole hearted smile whenever Lois thought she wasn't paying him a compliment. Nothing ever got past her; she was silently rejecting him before he even tried. The problem lied in the fact that he loved trying. She enjoyed it too or at least loved torturing him, as was her costume. No, that couldn't be it, Lois Lane was not a tease; she was the arrow heading for the target.

The woman could tell people's personalities by just one quick glance at them and she couldn't read his eyes?

Didn't she believe what they were saying? She secretly had to trust their message. Or was she lying to herself? Did she think that his suggestive looks meant nothing and that the now more common act of kindness was simply a coincidence? Of course, his pangs of jealousy were to her the acts of an over-protective friend. With his steel hands he could not read her mind, he could only guess as much as she would let him. Then how did he know her act completely? He knew because he did the very same thing. He was aware it was perfectly orchestrated, like the Czardas, starting with an abrupt move, building up grimly and then culminating with a passionate and almost joyful end. Why not direct it himself? His desires were clear, he'd have to jump and only assume she wanted the very same thing.

* * *

Neither could've known that their moves and dialogues had long been planned. Both of them might've been in control of the situation, the very directors of their lives; probably even thinking that something as simple as buying coffee or lunch was controlled by none other than themselves. It is not carved in stone, but their lives were not open to many pathways as they thought them to be.

A simple pang of hunger or boring article were the final movements of the first piece of a long masterpiece, without knowing it, they lead and were prisoners of an elaborated conspiracy.

There it was the very abrupt move that will start it all! But they will never really know how soft it really was, how almost no action was taken and yet it was the catalyst of so many things to come.

Lois walked in, with a hardened expression on her face, her grip tight on her coffee; the fire of hell seemed alive in her. She threw herself on her chair, not without noticing the black haired man in front of her. He smiled, knowing her condition and how fury was building up in her. That grin remained on his face until she returned it. It was the loudest of notes; the one nobody but them could ever hear.

He moved his chair to her desk and while giving her lunch, he touched her hand intentionally, and this did not go unnoticed by the counter party. For the first time, the warmth did not frighten them; he moved closer before she did.

Perfectly aware of the softened look on her eyes, Clark kept his smile silent and discrete, secretly celebrating her first victory.

Managing her chopsticks skillfully, she watched Clark and his modestly satisfied with himself. She was enjoying herself; he was blissfully ignorant that she had just let him win.

When will it end? Never will always be the question, time is endless and so is the uncertainty of things.


End file.
